


you can’t possibly imagine

by Helenish



Series: Here is a thing that isn't happening. [13]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, underage mumble mumble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-11
Updated: 2011-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:19:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenish/pseuds/Helenish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You think no one ever crushed my heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can’t possibly imagine

Eames walks to Mal and Dom's after school because he doesn't much feel like going home; he walks around back and taps on the glass, tentatively. Mal always tells him to come by and see her, anytime, anytime, but this is the first time he's done it without a real invitation. Mal is curled up on the couch under an afghan, reading a stack of papers and twiddling her pen between her fingers, but she looks up at his knock, and then smiles and beckons him in.

"Eames," she says, and then sits up a little straighter and puts the papers aside. "Has something happened? Arthur--"

"He’s fine," Eames says. "Everything’s fine."

"Sit down," Mal says, waving him onto the end of the couch. She wears little half-moon reading glasses to work, and now she looks at him over them, assessing. "I think perhaps you need a snack," she says.

"Okay," Eames says. Mal adds another log to the fireplace and then goes into the kitchen. Eames pulls off his soaked sneakers and puts them on the hearth to dry, and Mal comes out, first, with a mug of tea for him, and then comes back from the kitchen with her own mug and a plate of banana bread that she puts down on the couch between them.

"Supposing you read through a few of these for me and tell me what you think," she says, reaching under the couch and handing him a few manila folders. They’re half-developed extraction plans, already scribbled over with Mal and Dom’s notes, conversations taking place in the margins.

"Okay," Eames says, and Mal nods, lifting her tea, and bends her head back over her work. Eames is just writing his own careful note on the second one - " _Maybe it would work to go in as the mother, instead?_ " when Mal says.

"Arthur tells me you have a girl."

Eames shrugs. "Kind of," he says.

"Ah," Mal says. She taps the end of the pen against her knee. "It is an awful thing to be heartsick, isn’t it," she says. "Not so much fun as they make it sound in songs."

Eames shrugs again, and takes a big bite of banana bread.

"I remember being so desperate in my love for Dom--"

"I don’t--there’s no way he didn’t fall in love with you right away," Eames blurts out.

"But he didn’t," Mal says. "He didn’t know me, he thought I was crazy and strange and he loved to fuck me, but I was just this, this nobody in his mind--"

"Dom wouldn’t," Eames begins uncertainly, because Dom’s the one who drives him home and says things like "Arthur pushes you because he thinks you have so much potential," but waits until they’re right in front of the house so Eames can get out of the car and not have to say anything back.

"Oh, no, no," Mal says. "Not like that. He was never cruel and he never lied to me, but--I was wild for him and to him I was--a little interlude, perhaps, someone he liked very much, but--no more than that."

"And it all worked out fine for you," Eames mutters, trying to remind himself that it's not Mal's fault her life is fucking perfect.

"Yes," she says. "But you can’t possibly imagine that that Dom is the first time I fell in love."

"Oh," Eames says, and she laughs.

"Love is awful," she says. "Terrible. You know--to love is very brave."

Eames nods dutifully, and she shoves her glasses up into her hair and says, "You think I can’t see it in your face, how you think I am a liar."

"No, I don’t--"

"You think no one ever crushed my heart?"

"You wouldn’t care," Eames says. "You--if someone didn’t feel that way about you, you’d just, I don’t know. Say it was too bad for him."

"An excellent approach, yes," she says, breaking off a piece of banana bread. "But I’m afraid I’ve always kept to tradition--sobbing in my bed, listening to horrible sad songs, feeling worthless and empty in my stomach and so on."

"It’s not worth it," Eames says. "It’s stupid."

"Sometimes,” Mal says. “but I think you are a little young to give up entirely on love."

"I know," Eames says, annoyed, suddenly kind of just wishing Lisa was reading over his lab report, telling him his conclusion doesn’t match his data. Lisa’s parents like him--Eames has put some effort into that--but they treat him like he’s a little too old for her, like maybe he’s too experienced. It’s nice, sometimes, sitting on Lisa’s couch with her mom in the kitchen, bringing them orange slices, pretending not to be checking up on them.

"Your first time is the hardest," Mal says. "Or, no, that’s a lie, I'm sorry. It gets worse before it gets better."

"can’t wait," Eames mumbles. He’ll go home and Arthur won’t ask him where he’s been; Arthur tells him he deserves privacy, that he trusts him, that he’ll puke his guts out if he combines weed and Somnacin, by the way. They’re building something together, in a dream, five or ten minutes at a time when Arthur can get the PASIV. Arthur builds the world and Eames fills in the details, the temperature of ocean if you wade in, the way a wave will loop up over your ankles to splash your pants. Arthur hangs the sun in the sky but Eames makes it hot enough to burn the tips of your ears if you’re not wearing a hat.

*

The first time Arthur flipped up the top of the PASIV and pulled out an IV, Eames thought he was probably just into some really crazy designer drugs.

"Do you trust me?" Arthur said. He was cracking open the wrapper on a fresh needle, popping it into place.

"Fuck no," Eames said. Arthur smiled.

"Good answer," he said. "Want to give it a try anyhow?"

"This better fucking be good," Eames said.

"First time’s never very good," Arthur said, swabbing down his own injection site. "Gets better, though."


End file.
